Gimme Shelter
by amor-remanet
Summary: Finn looks like some invisible hand just threw a slushie in his face. "Oh. Then… what'd you want to talk about?" Kurt/Finn slash, oneshot, for LJ's Glee fic battle, based on this picture: http://bit.ly/7CpBgE. SECTIONALS SPOILERS.


"Hey, Finn," Kurt says gently, putting his hand on Finn's shoulder. His voice still lilts the same way that it always does; there are people in the hall to overhear them. Can't be out of the ordinary. "…Can we talk?"

It's been eleven days since sectionals, and just over a week since they got Mister Schuester back with glee, where he belongs… and Finn still isn't back to his old self. Even now, he's tense enough that Kurt can feel it through the nylon and the heavy cowhide leather of Finn's letterman jacket. Dark circles line Finn's eyes — small, faint ones, granted, Finn has his youth working for him, but they're there and Finn looks so _pale_ that it makes Kurt's stomach do the awkward flip-flops that he knows very well by now. He feels them every time he and Finn make eye contact, but usually, they're accompanied by the feeling of butterflies, rather than the feeling of moths and maggots.

To be fair: usually, Finn doesn't look like he's just been sucker-punched by a twelve-ton mack truck after having spent the whole night awake. And, usually, Kurt keeps his hands to himself. After too much silence settles between them, Kurt retracts his hand. He looks down at the linoleum. He purses his lips and shoves it into the pocket of his own letterman jacket, the one he never thought he'd wear, the one he got on a technical eligibility because Aunt Mildred and Uncle Jim didn't believe Dad when he said that Kurt had made the team, the one Puck hasn't worn since before sectionals, the one Kurt mostly got because Finn had one too.

In theory, this ought to make him feel closer to Finn — they've bonded, and they have their internal similarities… but the coat, on Kurt, feels like more of a show than anything. It's like those frogs that put on different colors so predators will think they're poisonous: Kurt wears the jacket well, but he doesn't feel like a member of the football team. Besides that, the red jacket doesn't go nearly as well with Kurt's all-blue ensemble as he thought it did when he left the house this morning, and feeling Finn's eyes on him brings this fact to the foreground of Kurt's awareness. His blue scarf might turn into viper and strangle him for crimes against fashion and basic color theory.

"Please?" he asks softly, looking back up to Finn.

Nodding slowly, Finn agrees, "Yeah… yeah, I guess, I… yeah, okay."

That's a start, Kurt guesses. He takes Finn's hand and laces their fingers together; whether it's from acceptance or a lack of energy to refuse, Finn lets it slide, even though it's probably in violation of some guy code or other. Kurt doesn't whisper, "Come on," until they're already halfway down the hallway — he takes the corridor down with purpose. The stares of onlookers occur to him, but he doesn't give them consideration. Everyone else might as well be dead to him anyway, when Finn's in such a state. Once they start finding classrooms, Kurt checks all the doors, and he ducks them into the first open one.

Only then does he let Finn's hand go, high-tailing it over to the other side of the room as though the whips of Hell are moving him forward. It's not Finn… well. It is, but it isn't. It's more on Kurt than Finn. He'll drop dead if Finn hears how hard his heart is beating, from just that short jaunt down to Mrs. Allen's English classroom, and it's being so _loud_ about insisting on its existence. If Kurt were to stay too close to Finn, Finn would have to hear it going on like a clunky carburetor — and there isn't a mechanic skilled enough in the world to fix this. Dad's the best Kurt knows, and he's not ready for this conversation yet.

Silence slinks in and sits itself down between them once again. Kurt has to imagine that Silence is tall and blonde, and looks like some unholy amalgam of Puck, Quinn, and a well-dressed elephant — a perverse combination of their features that, God willing and, one hopes, without the elephantine aspect, their bastard child is going to somehow dodge in their fast-and-loose game of genetic fifty-two pickup. Staring out the window, at the scenic view of the brick wall, Kurt crosses his arms over his chest. He takes several deep, unsteady breaths as he tries to think … can he really do this? It's one thing to bother being proud of who he is in Lima. It's quite another to try to have this conversation only to end up shaking.

"So… are we gonna talk?" Finn finally asks. A desk scuffs on the floor, presumably as he sits down on it. His backpack falls to the floor with a thud. "I mean… it's not like I'm doing anything or whatever, but you asked to—"

"We're going to talk," Kurt assures him, snapping unnecessarily, voice wobbling like Aunt Mildred after ten at night.

"If it's about Quinn or — or _him_, or the _baby_, I just…" Anger lurks under every single word, starting to bubble up. Kurt imagines that, right now, Finn is pressing his fingers too hard into the side of the desk, and this can't be helping the tension in his back. "I just — Mister Schue already made me talk to Miss Pillsbury about it, and I already told Rachel, and Brittany knows, and she's probably Santana that Quinn moved in with her because his mom is, like, crazy about her not being Jewish or something when mine was gonna let her _stay_ and I just—"

Kurt finally turns around. He feels his eyes start watering like it's allergy season, and he still makes himself turn around. "I don't want to gossip about that," he manages to say without whispering, even though he apparently can't avoid sounding like a broken doll. "Or about any of it."

Finn looks like some invisible hand just threw a slushie in his face. "Oh. Then… what'd you want to talk about?"

As he opens his mouth to speak, Kurt feels something dig its claws into his initiative and pull him back: Finn was speaking out of frustration, sure, but he thought Kurt just wanted to gossip about this. Does he really think that Kurt's that petty? …What is Kurt even _doing_ here? Mouth flapping like a dying fish's, Kurt hears Rachel's words play in his mind again: _I'd still be miles ahead of you because I'm a girl_. Who does he think he's kidding?

Sighing, Kurt forces himself to breathe in deeply. That's ridiculous. Finn's reaction wasn't Kurt's fault or indicative of how Finn really feels about him. Voice trembling again, Kurt tells him, "…You."

…Oh, no. Something's going wrong. Not only does Kurt feel himself walking back over to Finn's perch on the front row center desk, but his eyes start getting wetter and he can't explain it. But still, he stands over Finn — looking at him eye-level for the first time Kurt can remember — and says again, "I — I wanted to talk about you. …All everyone cares about with this is _Quinn_, and _Puck_, and the _lying_, and the _baby_, and regionals, and… and nobody's asking about _you_, and I just… I wanted to see—"

Kurt expects Finn to cut him off, but he does it for himself when he has to fight off what might be the beginning of a sob. No, he can't cry. He cannot start crying now. He _can't_. His mascara might be waterproof, but he has no business to be crying about anything involving the combination of Finn, Quinn, Puck, and baby-daddy drama. Kurt has no business crying over it because he _knows_ that he doesn't mean that much to Finn. Any emotional investment is on his hands, because he has a stupid, _stupid_ crush, and…

…and he has Finn's hand on his shoulder. Kurt stares at it, and then at Finn.

"It's okay," Finn tells him. "I know you like me, and—"

"It's not okay." Kurt hugs himself tighter, and feels like he might throw up. "You haven't been acting like yourself, Finn. I — I don't like seeing you like this. I'm worried, and I…"

Finn nods and, briefly, almost seems to smile like himself — then he tweaks the collar of Kurt's jacket. "…I — it's kind of weird seeing you in this," he says. "…It's not really you, is it?"

"My dad likes it," Kurt hazards softly.

"…Can I see the Kurt I know better for a while?" Finn asks.

As much as Kurt wouldn't mind just taking this jacket off, he has to reply: "Can I get a better look at your sweater?"

Finn agrees and, almost synchronized, they both remove the nylon/cowhide leather shells of allegiance to the football team. Off of his shoulders, Finn's nestles behind him on the desk. Kurt lets his fall to the floor — he doesn't mean to, not really. But before it's really off him, Finn snakes his arms around Kurt's waist and gently brings him in; one hand goes to Kurt's hip, and the other settles on the small of Kurt's back. Finn presses his face into Kurt's neck, and Kurt can't help what he does next. They're touching each other, from chests to hips. Reflexes kick in. His arms curl, one behind Finn's neck and one around Finn's shoulder. Kurt presses his face against Finn's forehead, his nose into Finn's hair. The scent of Head and Shoulders hits him like Finn's fist in Puck's face.

"There," Finn says before too much silence can get comfortable again. "That's better."

Kurt takes a deep breath. Then another. He can smell Finn's Bio-Freeze, and the lotion he gave Finn for his face. "I… I'd understand," he says. "If you don't want to take me up on this, but… if you do, I'm here for you. To talk or something. Whenever you need it. …Okay?"

Leaning in even closer, Finn nods and rubs his nose against Kurt's neck. Kurt feels Finn's hands start migrating: one fumbles onto his white plastic belt, and the other slowly starts pulling up his shirt. Sighing, Kurt's fingers curl tighter behind Finn's neck. He nods and pressed a kiss into Finn's hair.


End file.
